


To Live and Die in LA

by IRisEaGLeS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Detective Noir, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Film Noir, Los Angeles, Murder, Murder Mystery, POV Draco Malfoy, Police, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IRisEaGLeS/pseuds/IRisEaGLeS
Summary: Film Noir AU. With the death of his partner, Draco Malfoy is forced into a world previously unknown to him - something dark and sinister lay underground. Something that only a mysterious dame can show him and bring in the light.





	1. North Mission Road

**Author's Note:**

> Art from Kimberly Godfrey - https://www.etsy.com/shop/KimberlyGodfrey  
> Musical inspirations: https://youtu.be/-HgtaVOs-lM and  
> https://youtu.be/KY8j8V6lif4 
> 
> Listen to this while reading: https://youtu.be/PEI2zet48Uc 
> 
> I grew up in a Los Angeles suburb as the daughter of a cop and in college I was pre-law. This called to me. I pulled some past experience, some references from my dad's duties, and just a general knowledge. Hollenbeck division is real, North Mission Road is the Los Angeles county coroner's office, Playa del Rey is now called Marina del Rey.  
> This came about out of passion and inspiration.  
> The title is from the Wang Chung song above, although it is also the title of a police movie. I wasn't allowed to watch said movie, because my grandfather worked on it (that was just a household standing rule- if grandpa worked on it I couldn't watch it). When writing the story, I remembered growing up in the 80s in LA, how the song stuck to me even after I left.  
> The Red Hot Chili Peppers song Under the Bridge, hit me when it came out, bringing me back home. The acoustic version above is just a work of art.  
> And finally the work of art that is the backdrop for the cover art comes from the talented Kimberly Godfrey.

* * *

 

* * *

 

I poured myself another stiff drink. It seems to be my normal - my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner - every since that night that haunts me. The night that had begun like any other; my partner and I met up at the detective division of the Hollenbeck precinct of the Los Angeles Police Department for another night of murder and mayhem. But that’s Los Angeles: investigating one murder a night means it is a slow day. That night it was one murder, but it was the murder that changed my life. And had put me on desk duty until my little habit laid me in internal affairs’ sights and on probation.

But that’s neither here nor there. Right now, I’m staring down my drink ready to throw it back in honor of the good man we lost that night. The night that landed me on North Mission Road looking down on the hollow body of my late partner.

My drink taunts me. I have no place now. Not because of the drink in my hand, but because of Zabini and his death.

Zabini. The guy and I went through the academy together. We started out in different precincts, both raising through the ranks in no time, and by some happenchance we both ended up in Hollenbeck. Then we were partnered together and it was like we were 20 in the academy again.

Except everything is different. In those seven years he got married and had a baby. Now he has a widow and a fatherless son. I try with the kid, but I just can’t anymore. The kid is a baby. I don’t know what to do with a baby.

Zabini always said I would be an eternal bachelor. He knew I would never find someone who could deal with me and my steamer trunk full of issues. He knew that I was a hopeless case, someone no one could love. He just knew.

“Cheers Blaise, wherever you are.” I raise my glass to him in the dim light of the rundown office that I rented so that I had some justification to get out of bed in the morning. It’s nothing but a couple of chairs, an old desk that I found on the side of the road, and a place to hang my hat. My desk isn’t much, just a beat up wooden thing to hold my extensive liquor collection that keeps me going most days and nights and a framed photo of Blaise and I after graduation from the academy, both of us young and smiling, hopeful. His wife - Tracey - gave it to me at the end of the funeral as a thank you for the eulogy that I gave. I had nothing to give back to the woman who gave the most for our city. She gave the love of her life. What had I given?

I down my glass in one swig, glaring at the picture. “Blaise, mate, what the hell were you thinking? You had Tracey. You had Ian. You had it all. And then you jumped in front of me. Why? I have nothing. I will always have nothing. Now all I have is what crap you left me with. I don’t even have a reason for your death. I don’t even have a bloody way you died. What am I supposed to do for Tracey? How can I give her answers when all I have are more questions? How can I be a dad to Ian when the dad he needs was ripped from him? How? How could you do that to me?”

I hurl the picture at the door. Nothing new. I have gone through as many frames as I have bottles of whiskey since he died.

Behind the glass of the door is a shadow.

A curvy little thing.

Must be a dame.

Most wouldn’t be able to recognize these things through the fog of alcohol and frosted glass, but after being a hardened LAPD detective for the last couple of years, and one of the youngest on the department, I have learned to pay attention to the little details. Most wouldn’t notice the small of her waist through the lead glass that held back the daily haze that has descended on the Valley since the night the department lost one of their own.

Most wouldn’t recognize that she doesn’t wear the traditional hat that dons the heads of the dames of this town. No, rather she pulls down what looks to be a scarf or shawl of some type before hesitating.

“Come on dame,” I mutter only semi coherently to myself. “I dare ya to knock or even open the door.”

Like she heard the dare, the brass of the door handle turns. I can’t pull my eyes away as the door slowly opens, as if on its own accord. I see her foot first. She is in sensible black and white pumps. I follow that foot up a gam, my what a gam it is, to the hem of her skirt which sits just below her knees. What little bit of leg I can gander at shows me that this dame’s curves are not fake - not thanks to those damned corsets that are all the rage and messing with men’s minds. No she is all real.

And as my eyes continue to travel upward, I wish this blasted sweltering heat and humidity that June brings would give way to some more moderate temperatures. The heat of the city is doing nothing for the heat that is radiating off this dame. This dame with her sensual hips that tighten into a petite waist and upward to a full bosom.

What she wears is not anything that you would see in the streets of Hollywood or even in the lesser parts of the city. You wouldn’t be seen in anything like this even in Burbank. No, it is like she stepped out of another place, another time. There is a ruby red flared skirt, something soft I imagine the way it moves - probably silk. She has a cinched gold belt with a queer lightning bolt clasp. A black and gold embroidered deep V top accompanies the outfit that has billowing sleeves that end at her elbows in gold cuffs.

I was right, she doesn’t wear the typical gloves and hat but rather a red and gold shawl that must have covered her bobbed curly hair but now hangs low off her arms.

“Mister Malfoy?” I nod at her address. “I have information on the death of Blaise Zabini.” My glass falls with a reverberating crash, spilling the few last drops of golden life.

Because with those simple words my world turned upside down.


	2. The Haze Over the Valley

“Spill dame.” I say curtly. Probably too curtly, but my glass is shattered on the floor and now the only way to drink my meals is directly from the bottle.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” her accent is not from around here. Hell, she sounds British of all things. That would explain her lack of fashion. “May I have a seat?”

I nod to the worn chair in the corner and with a simple wave of her hand it slides on its own in front of my desk. “How in fuck’s sake did you do that?”

“It is unimportant at the moment,” she states flatly. “Like I said, I have information on the death of Mister Zabini.”

“Detective Zabini. Give him the honors he is due.” My cold stare doesn’t faze her, which, in turn, unnerves me. Usually I can get the guilty parties to crumble under my stare but this dame, she takes it all in stride.

“Fine, Detective Zabini then. I knew him as Blaise anyways.” She waves me off with a swish of her hand. Internally, I panic. The last wave of her hand sent a chair across the floor. This one had my glass right itself, pieces of intricately carved crystal that was supposedly my late great grandmother’s, are seamlessly repaired. Even the amber liquid that was remaining in it returns. Now it sits on my desk. Mocking me. Like magic. Being a realist, I know it isn’t magic, magic doesn’t exist. That doesn’t explain this dame though.

I don’t even flinch, which would probably be a distraction but it just how I operate, “How do you know Blaise? And what do you know of his death?” My interrogation begins on the young twenty-something dame that sits straight back in front of me, her shapely gams crossed, with not a care in the world.

“Mister Malfoy.”

“Detective.”

“From what I hear, you either have a demotion or a permanent residence in this office in your future. Calling you Detective Malfoy is somewhat disingenuous.”

I smirk, the dame knows her stuff. “Fine, call me what you may. Malfoy would be fine. Just answer my questions.” I am getting tired of this dame schooling me, like some proper bitchy governess. I had enough of that in my youth, I don’t need some swotty priss telling me what to do or what I should be called.

“You haven’t found a smoking gun.” She reaches into a small simple black handbag that I didn’t see her carrying, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a snap of her fingers. “And you won’t. You won’t see what killed him because you are simply looking at muggle means. You need to expand your repertoire.”

“How do you know? And what does Muggle mean to you? Zabini nor I smoked muggle. Nor were we involved in its trade.” I don’t know if I trust this dame, but if she can give me answers to Blaise’s death and give Tracey some piece of mind, I am willing to entertain it.

“It is best if I show you rather than tell you. Let’s just say you aren’t safe. Blaise took that avada for you. He knew. Now I have to give you a lifetime of instruction in a matter of days. And this time it is _your_ life that is on the line. Meet me here,” she elegantly uncrosses her legs, “at 8 tonight. Don’t be drunk. Clean yourself up. We are going out.” She stands like there is no question that I will follow her instructions, and God help me, I am. She wraps herself up in her shawl before turning on her heal and gliding towards my office door like she is floating on air, not walking. “Eight tonight. Don’t be late Mister Malfoy.” She doesn’t even look at me as she turns the knob on my door and walks out of my life like she walked in.

Damn, now I have to get a shower and suit.

* * *

 At half past seven, I am looking out the dreary window that is behind my desk, watching as the lights come on across the city. This city that I love. This city that I will give my everything for. This city that is the only thing grounding me to this miserable life.

I don’t hear her heals as they come up the stairs to my third floor office. The elevator has been broke down for days and there is no sign of it ever being repaired. Being the only office on this floor I know when someone is coming by the sound of their shoes as they track up the flights of stairs.

Not her. There was a nearly inaudible pop just before 8, and she opens my office door.

I don’t turn. I know it is her. I can’t explain how, I just know. Something like a sixth sense - my gut just knows. I look down at myself dressed in a white tuxedo jacket, black shirt and slacks, and polished wingtips. I pack my backup revolver, locked and loaded. I also have memorized all the contacts at the department that still are on friendly terms with me, just in case. I also have my PI ticket with me, though at this moment I wish I had my piece of tin that is my badge instead. Shame I had to turn that in with the gun I am most comfortable shooting.

“Do I meet with your approval Miss Granger?” I ask snarkily not even turning around to see her. It seems to be my default right now. I don’t like this dame, and I have never been able to hide the disdain in my voice. Probably why I was paired with Blaise to begin with; he was always cheery and personable and I was sullen. It was the perfect ‘good cop/bad cop’ combination. He knew all the gumshoes around. I couldn’t be troubled. He would ask about their wives, their kids, their lives. I didn’t care. I focused on results, give me the answers to my questions and I always came up with the end, the conviction, the perp in jail. My ‘bad attitude’ comes across more and more now that he is gone and this prissy dame is just making me worse.

“Absolutely. Now do I meet with yours Mister Malfoy?” Her voice is low and sultry, like some crooner in a private jazz bar. How did I not notice it before now or did it change just to get a rise out of me?

I turn around to see her in a black strapless dress that cut outs at her middle and a full skirt with a slit that goes to her upper thigh. More than slightly scandalous, but it is sexy and as sultry as her deep voice.

My eyes widen when I take in the whole picture - her silver handbag, her white rabbit fur shrug hanging over one shoulder, her smoky eyes making them look so much more golden than brown, and her deep red pouty lips. My villainous body shudders when I take in her whole package. I instantly notice the tightening in my pants that makes them uncomfortable. “You look very nice Miss Granger. Now are you going to give me the information I require or are you going to string me along some more?”

“Like I said before Mister Malfoy,” she said haughtily but still in that sexy voice, “I need to show you some background before I am able to answer the questions you have right now. You probably will have a few hundred more before the night is over.”

“Fine, do I need to call for a taxi?”

“We won’t need a taxi.” She holds out her hand. “Grab your hat Mister Malfoy and lock the door.”

“Then what?” I do as she says looking at her outstretched hand confused.

“Take my hand,” she says with an eye roll.

“Shouldn’t I be offering you my arm? I mean I would if I were a proper gentleman, but I’m not.”

“Fine. Whatever you are most comfortable with Mister Malfoy,” she says indignantly.

I offer the lady my arm, which she take in her long gloved hand. I notice no ring adorning her left ring finger, just a sizable pear shaped sapphire surrounded by two rings of diamonds and three flares on the side, also covered in diamonds. It looks to be a pricy piece, and from what I have gathered this Miss Hermione Granger, can afford and flaunt it.

“Engaged?” I nod to the ring on her right hand.

“No,” she shyly says through her long curled lashes. Something changed in her demeanor when I mentioned the ring. Something softens her. I finally hit a sore spot, maybe one I can use to my benefit. “It was my great, great grandmother’s ring. It is passed on through the women of my family when we turn of age.” I nod, but inwardly I am grateful for the answer. Maybe she isn’t committed to anyone. “I was meant to marry Blaise. Our marriage was arranged when we were children by our parents.” There is a hiccup in her voice, a break, a crack. There is hurt that she is trying to hide there. There is a pain that I am too familiar with. “But then he ran off with Tracey and I have no prospects; if that is what you are asking Mister Malfoy.”

I think I understand the dame a little more. This is personal for her. This is the murder of the man she was meant to be with. She is invested in this as much as I am, if not maybe more.

Her golden doe eyes look up at me, even in her high heels, “I am not jealous of Tracey and actually I am Ian’s godmother. I feel it is my duty to our families to get to the bottom of this, and I need your help. I need to know why he took that curse for you. I need to know why you are vested in this and how. There is a lot that I need from you and you need answers from me. So this is how we are going to start.” All semblance of pain is gone, replaced by the stern demeanor that I thought only came from Catholic school nuns. “This is the basics and the how of how he died. This is me trusting you with the biggest secret in the world. This is where you need to trust me, if only for tonight. Then tomorrow, we will get to work.”

I nod. It is all I can do right now. Dumbly nod. With that, I feel like I am pulled into myself through my belly button.


	3. The Phoenix Room

The pulling feeling was nauseating to say the least. I opened my eyes, somewhere in that blur of color and light I had closed them tightly, saw a brick wall in front of us, and proceeded to upchuck everything I have ingested in the last month. On my hands and knees, throwing up my lower intestines, I hear her giggle. She giggles at my wretched state.

“Don’t worry, it happens to all of us the first time we apparate. You should have seen Blaise. I have never seen him so green in my life.” She continues to giggle, hopefully at the memory of him and not my state. “Once you right yourself, let me know. Then the real fun will begin.”

It took a few minutes of sheer embarrassing sickness before I could speak, and only then it was a toad-like sound coming from my mouth,

“Where in fuck’s sake are we?” I pull out a complimentary handkerchief that came with this set of glad rags when I bought them earlier today and wipe my mouth.

“It is a little bar I know. Probably too well. You may recognize some faces here. I know Blaise was a regular.”

“You know a lot about my partner. How?”

Shrugging off the implication, “Like I said, we were supposed to be married. So our families had us around a lot. We became friends. It is why I didn’t get upset when he and Tracey ran off.”

Not letting up, I continue, “But you know about his life here?”

“Of course. Tracey was one of my best friends. I visited them a great deal out here,” her haughty attitude from earlier returns. She actually reminds me of a prissy librarian or a looker of a teacher ready to scold me, not that either mental picture does any good for my straining slacks.

“Did you know about me?” I ask somewhat hopefully.

“Yes, Blaise told me about his arrogant partner that seems to live in a constant funk. He thought that being on the night shift made him colder. I can only assume he was talking about you.” Her face softens, and the look is absolutely sinful, like she is is in some dream, one that I desire to be in with her. Now my mind wanders to what all Blaise did tell her, because I think there is more to the story deeply tucked away.

I finally feel right enough to stand, she offers me her hand in assistance, and when I shake her off she turns to the wall and taps out a pattern. One of the bricks slides aside like an old speakeasy’s would, about her waist level, and two oversized yellow eyes look back at her.

“Yes” says the eyes in a squeaky voice.

“Miss Hermione Granger and a guest,” is all she says in response.

“Miss Granger, we have been expecting you. Is your guest one of us?”

“He is, just unknowing. If you could have the good Professor meet us at my usual table, please.”

“Of course. Please surrender your wand upon admittance.”

“Of course.” She makes it sound like it is nothing to her.

And then it hits me: “Damn, I knew there was something wrong with you,” I mutter to myself. “No dame is this perfect.”

She spins on me, “What is that supposed to mean?” The gold in her eyes blaze like small amber fires, directed at me.

“You’re no broad. You’re nothing but a daisy cat in bird’s clothing.” I state simply.

Her hair seems to take on an electricity that flares the angrier she gets. “Excuse you. I most certainly am a lady.”

“Then what is this ‘surrender your wand’?” I quip.

“It’s just that.” She pulls a piece of wood, something like a carved ornate stick, out of her small purse. Where that long rod was hiding in a bag that was barely as big as her hand, I don’t know. “A wand. Welcome to my world Mister Malfoy. Or should I say our world.”

The wall behind her faded away into an ornate stained glass marvel of a phoenix in flight. The reds, golds, and ambers glow from within. The bird itself looks to turn its head to look directly at us prior to opening.

“Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger, it is a pleasure to have you here. Mister Zabini is missed.”

“That he is, Elphor,” she looks down to where a creature with oversized ears and eyes that looks us both up and down, causing me to pause. “I can assume my table is ready.”

“That it is m’lady. This way. The professor is waiting for you.” This little creature leads the way through a dim, smoke filled bar with a couple of musicians on a blood red velvet lined stage.

“Mister Malfoy,” she begins hopefully in explanation, “welcome to the Phoenix Room. Like I said, Blaise was a regular here. If you ever wondered where he got his questionable leads, it was probably here.”

I nod dumbly, understanding. Blaise would leave work one day and come back the next with the case nearly solved by himself based on a ‘lead’. It was not something I questioned after the first few brush offs but now I think I understand. This room is filled to the brim with questionable characters - some that don’t even look entirely human.

I watch her follow the creature, well if I am totally honest I watch her backside as she sashays through the club to a seat in the back corner. It is a booth lined in the same dark red velvet that is on the stage, and a stout nance stood up, nodding. The creature turned to Miss Granger holding out its small hand with abnormally long, spindly fingers, expectantly. She hands over the piece of wood she showed me earlier for a claim ticket. Being something of a gentleman tonight, mostly because there is an audience, I help the lady with her stole, also handing it over to the little thing with bulging eyes.

With the disenfranchising creature gone, Miss Granger kisses the cheek of our other guest, ‘the Professor’ as she called him before sliding into the booth.

“Mister Malfoy,” the man addresses me directly holding out his hand to shake, “it is a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance. Your extended family on the continent and I have a long history. I believe that you may know of your aunt Andromeda. She and I go very far back to when she was a young lady.” I look at this quack with an eyebrow raised. It is all I can do in this situation. How does he know of my estranged aunt and what the hell does that have to do with me? “I am Professor Horace Slughorn.”

“Professor,” Miss Granger addresses the overstuffed goose to take his seat in the booth. “Mind if we ask you some questions?”

Giving her what looks to be a false smile, “Of course not Miss Granger. I am always available for my favorite students, and you are certainly on that list. How can I help you?” He waves over some doll and orders drinks for the table.

Granger waits until the waitress returns with the requested drinks, turning to me quietly, “It may be stronger than you are used to.” I take a sip instead of downing the glass and understand her warning completely. It burns, but not in the same way as a good gin or bourbon. No, this is something called fire whiskey and it is just that - fire. Turning back to the Professor with a sly smirk on her tantalizing lips, “Tell me about the Silver Serpents.”


	4. The Silver Serpents

The Prof sputtered and nearly spit his fire whiskey across the table when she asked the question. I remember Zabini babbling something about these Silver Serpents but didn’t really pay attention to much of his ‘confidential information’, he always said it would be safer for the both of us if I didn’t ask too many questions.

But this one, well it threw me. How does she know so damn much? Who really is this dame?

A canary starts in on the stage, she’s nothing to look at compared to the doll next to me; I lean back only partially listening to her croon in time with the music. The music is winding around me, almost like leaves in the wind blowing me away with them, before Granger’s hand finds my thigh, immediately bringing me out of the funk. “Pay attention,” she whispers into me. “I don’t need you falling prey to a siren’s song.”

After the Prof has finished spluttering like a fish out of water, he begins, “The Silver Serpents? I have no idea what you mean Miss Granger? I could never be affiliated with such an organization.”

“Nonsense Professor. There is no use in lying to me. You used to be the Snake’s Head before Severus Snape took over,” she says with an air of superiority over this man who is her elder at least three times over.

The Prof sighs, looking deep into his glass as if it will tell him the answers he is looking for. Some type of epiphany at the bottom of the glass. Something I have looked for those days, weeks, months after Zabini’s death.

“The Silver Serpents is an unauthorized fraternity at school. The head of the house serves as the Snake’s Head. He picks the best men for the organization from the members of Slytherin house. Tapping is fourth year. In sixth year, the young man taps his successor. They are integral in our world, you must understand Miss Granger. They are in business, politics, on the light and the dark. There is almost nothing left that the Silver Serpents have not touched at some point.”

“I understand that. Fifth year Blaise told me, before he fell in love with Tracey. He was getting my support and letting me know what our future entailed since he was my betrothed,” Granger explains. “I had to ask him on the trip to school when I saw the pin on his lapel.”

“He should not have given you so much information until your betrothal was secured. Most betrothed do not find out even a part of that information until their seventh year and wedding plans and where their future lay is secured.”

“I’m sorry Professor, but there were no secrets between Blaise and I. I even knew his feelings for Tracey before him.”

“That is because you are and always will remain the brightest witch of the age, Miss Granger.”  Mentally I take in some of the information presented: wands, witches, those creepy creatures, another world that Zabini was involved with, a group called the Silver Serpents. I am interrupted in my musings as the attention is drawn to me. “Mister Malfoy,” the Prof stutters, which tells me there is something more he isn’t saying, something deeply personal to me, “I should let you know that your own grandfathers on both sides were Silver Serpents. Your father also. You have a lineage in the organization. You would have been tapped, had you known of it and magic in general.”

The shock must have been written across my face, “Me? My father? My grandfathers? How? Why?”

Granger pats my leg again, the tips of her fingers dangerously close to my engorged cock. “I will explain to him Professor after you leave. But while we have your attention, please, what else can you tell me?”

“You are correct in your assumption that Snape is the Snake’s Head. He wanted to get his hands on Mister Malfoy here, if only for his inheritance, name, and prestige. It was why Mister Zabini was initially tapped to become a copper here in the States. His job was to get close to Mister Malfoy and bring the Malfoy heir back into the folds, back to England. He was supposed to teach him the arts and skills required to be a Serpent.”

“Considering Mister Malfoy’s reaction to cross-city apparition, I don’t believe Blaise ever got that far,” Granger chuckles. “He doesn’t even have a wand.”

The Prof joins in, at what seems to be my expense. “No, I would think not. Mister Zabini came to me for advice. He wanted out. He didn’t want this for Ian, nor Mister Malfoy here. He strung along the Serpents until he couldn’t anymore. Then there was word that Mister Malfoy had a connection within the Serpents, which is why so many of them ended up in the Muggle pen with his name attached to their cases.”

“But it really was Blaise who was informing the department from what I gather,” Granger plead. I just am watching the interchange between these two, my mental notepad getting fuller with each interaction. “It wasn’t Malfoy. Blaise just kept his name off the cases.” I nod in agreement. That is something else to take down in my mental notebook. Blaise’s name lacking from a number of our arrests, always those that had his suspicious leads. “And how was Snape going to secure the Malfoy inheritance? I mean there must be failsafes in place.”

The Prof nods in agreement, “Of course they are Miss Granger, and most of those failsafes are Serpents in their own right. If Mister Malfoy here were to pass away without a valid heir, the Gringotts vaults would go to members of his distant family, and they are Serpents. Snape then would have control over the money and dark items stored within.”

I ponder on how these two strangers know so much of my life; so much more than I do. “You both talk like there is some massive amount of gold and priceless artifacts stored away for me. I have never heard of any of this.”

“Oh Mister Malfoy,” the Professor reddens, “you are very well off in our world. Very well off indeed. You are one of the richest men in our world. And it is why Snape wants it, either by association, coerherion, or your own demise.”


	5. To Seek our Vengence

After another drink the Prof finally left, leaving the dame and me. I am still reeling over the information she has gathered in such a short time, compared to the extensive search that the department has been doing for months.

That isn’t including what I have been working on on my own. In one night my file on Blaise Ignatius Zabini can be thrown into the dumpster. My whole case is garbage. I am starting over, and thanks to Miss Hermione Granger I at least have something reliable to go on. 

Well, as reliable as anything in the Phoenix Club.

It is another couple of more of the songbird’s tunes before she speaks again. “Mister Malfoy, I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Since you know me better than I know myself, I feel it is only right if you call me by Draco. We are beyond any type of formality now,” I say still in something of a stupor.

“Draco, you heard a lot tonight and have seen even more. Where do you want to start?”

“How do you and the Professor know so much about me?” I ask sullenly suddenly feeling even more at a loss, like I don’t even know myself anymore.

“Well,” she fumbles in her beaded bag for something and pulls out a smoke and an old scrap of paper, handing the latter to me, “like Professor Slughorn implied, you are something of royalty to us. Almost everyone knows you. Or knows of you. It was actually shocking that you were so easy to find considering how your family tried to hide you as a baby.” The paper is an old newsprint about the ‘Lost Malfoy Baby’ with a moving picture of what I can only assume are my parents crying. 

“Hide me? Why? I mean I grew up with one of my mother’s cousins, so I don’t even really know that much about them.”

“There was a war going on when you were an infant. It is a long story in its own right. Your dad was on the losing side, so to say. He didn’t die, nor was he sent to Azkaban - our jail. From what I gathered from Blaise, your mother pushed for you to be removed from the country and when your father declined, she sent you away without his permission. One night you were asleep in your crib, the next morning you and your house elf were gone.” She nods to the story that is in my shaking hands.

“So, my parents…” my voice cracks at the words.

“Are alive. Your father is in jail now. Your mother is on house arrest. There was another war, one that Blaise and I fought in on opposing sides. It solidified his alliance with the Silver Serpents and Tracey instead of me.” She sighed, a long drawn out sound of regret and loss. A sound of wanting to fall back into the past, and change all mistakes. “With your father in jail, you technically control all the money and businesses under the Malfoy name. Which is why you’re such a commodity either alive or dead.”

“And Blaise knew all of this?” My head is still reeling and my hands shaking at the admission.

She stares blankly at the stage ahead, “Yes. Initially, you were an assignment. But later he confided in me that the two of you became friends. He would say that it was your magical core trying to latch onto another magical being. He couldn’t bring himself to manipulate you nor hurt you. It is why you two were assigned different precincts for so long. He wanted to stay away from you, to protect you.” There is grief still in her tone, Blaise may have been much more than a friend to her; how much, I don’t know yet. “But then you both turned up at the Hollenbeck precinct, and assigned as partners, he knew he was running out of time and had to ensure your safety.”

“But why? He was the one who had it all,” I think out loud.

“Why? It was just how Blaise was. You should know that. He was on the wrong side at a young age, and did everything he could to save those he cared about. He always said that is why he ran off with Tracey. See, at home, I am known something of a war heroine. And we were supposed to be married. He wanted to save my reputation by not marrying me. Yes, he loved Tracey. Yes, he adored Ian. He would do anything and everything for that boy. But he couldn’t force him into the life that he had made.”

“I understand that. But why not just hand me over to these Serpents?”

“Blaise knew your mother well. She pled for your life. When he became a father, he understood.”

I look up to the smoke filled ceiling, and mutter more to myself than anyone, “Wherever you are, thank you.” I close my eyes and steel myself before turning to the dame with gams for miles, “Now it is time to seek our vengeance.”


	6. Pasadena

The night was long and the continuous line of drinks strong. Just what I needed with this dame at my side. She was telling a fanciful yarn, something that would sell thousands of books and have kids dreaming of a life beyond reality.

I try and stay grounded but every time I look around this joint, I think she is spot on. She talks of being a witch and that Blaise and I are wizards. She talks of magical schooling. And wands - that piece of wood. She talks of magical creatures, like that elf. She gave me a fancy row, but either my eyes deceive me or this is the damned truth. 

I would drift in an out through her story of trolls and wars, of alliances and deceits, of love and loss. She told me how my mother and father were involved; how my mother saved the life of her best friend. 

She told me that come the morning she was going to take me shopping and get me my own wand, to which I nearly spit out my drink and she rolled her mesmerizing eyes in return. She told me that she would teach me some basic defensive spells to protect myself. 

She said that I would have to claim my inheritance. My mother may have to come out for that.

I might see my mother. I don’t know how to feel about that. This is a woman who stole me away from my father, from this world that I belong to, to save my butt from a war. I grew up, lived my life, in utter oblivion to the life that I could have had. The money, the authority, the knowledge, the power. It is something that tempts me to go back and claim it all, to take what is mine.

First though, I have to find justice for Blaise. Granger here is just as determined and knows a thing or two from what I have gathered. Tonight, just tonight, I will listen to her fanciful tale, sipping this whiskey, and enjoying the company.

By the morning I found myself asleep with my head on my desk, jacket thrown halfheartedly at the coat rack, with a hangover to end me. I could barely open my eyes, the blood thumping behind them caused such a noise and pain that I would have loved to just kick it then and there. I felt a strange nuzzle of something, like soft fur on the wind, and faced the consequence of my night. 

There was a otter made solely of silver light standing in front of me, nuzzling my arm. When my eyes focused on the ethereal being, it spoke in her voice, “I left you a hangover draft. Drink it. Drink it fast because it tastes bloody awful. It will have you feeling right as rain in a few. I will be by at half past nine to get started on our project. Don’t mention it to anyone, I noticed there were some magical bugs in your office. There still may be. Be careful, drink the draft, and see you soon.” When it stopped talking, it vanished in smoke.

If my mind didn’t hurt before the hangover, it sure as hell did now.

Today we were going to see Tracey Zabini, and by extension her son. Dealing with a two and a half year old is not something I need to think about with the headache that continues to throttle my aching temple. Do I take what is in the little vial that sits next to my head or should I just suck it up and down a couple of aspirin with a bourbon chaser? 

So far she hasn’t lead me astray. So far she has shown me things that are surreal, but at the same time as real as the desk that my head is lounging on. So far she has shown me nothing but a different existence, one that I seem to be an integral part of. Not just an integral part - no she mentioned that I am something akin to royalty - what she called a pureblood. A filthy rich pureblood. 

When we went to leave she had reached into her little bag, I swear that thing must be magic because she was fishing so much stuff out looking for another little bag that held a bunch of gold coins. I grilled her thinking she was swindling the club; I mean it was one thing to be in a sketchy place like this, drink myself into a near stupor; but I don’t cheat. She had to explain to me that this is valid money that is used by wizards to pay for wizard stuff and that I have at least a couple vaults full of it.

That threw me for a loop. I really am filthy, stinking rich. Like she has been in our ‘Manor house’ type rich. 

I can’t wrap why my mother would send me away from a life like this to live in a near non-existence. I lived away from them, I lived away from the lifestyle that should have been mine, I lived away from the world I belonged to.

Now I have to get my arse up and down this liquid before I go and see someone else that has lived the life I should have - Tracey. From what Granger told me last night, Blaise was in a similar way as I was and he gave it up for her. Well except for his magic and along with it the responsibilities that came with the Silver Serpents. 

So I down the damned liquid and hell if Granger wasn’t right, it was awful. It was less than five clicks of the clock and I could have sworn that I have skived off alcohol forever. I still have to make a run home and change before seeing Tracey though, but that seems much more feasible now that I am not riddled with the constant reminder of the adventures the previous night.

It was nearly ten when I returned to the office, and although I had locked it behind me - didn’t I - there Granger sat in the chair that she seemed to have claimed upon her first visit.

“How? I mean how did you get in?” My shock was nothing new to her from her lack of reaction.

“Magic. I would have assumed that you would have guessed that by now. I have been waiting for the last thirty minutes. It is quite rude to leave a lady waiting,” she admonished.

“Sorry. Now, what all did we need to do today? I remember that we need to talk to Tracey Zabini, but wasn’t there a list of other things that you needed me for?”

She sighed. She must not have the same ill effects from the alcohol consumption as I did. “Foremost, we need to get you a wand. It is something you have to do since the wand chooses the wizard. We need going to make an inquiry at the local Gringotts location here, to see what is required to access your accounts. Then we will see Tracey. When we are done there, I can teach you some rudimentary spells to keep you safe but spellwork isn’t like pointing a gun and pulling the trigger. It is concentration, accuracy, determination, and precise movements.”

Damn if she wasn’t a swotty little doll dressed in a form fitting black dress that cinched at her minuscule waist, fit her hips loose enough to move but still tight enough to show her gams, and came down to below the knee. The top was a simple low scoop neck but it was wide enough that you could see her collar bones. She topped it off with a string of perfectly matched marbles hanging close to her neck.

I could find myself falling for this babe easily, if what she said wasn’t so outrageous. My mind may change by the end of the day, but I don’t think it will.

“I had to change, I don’t think you wanted me in my worn glad rags traipsing around town for all this.”

“No,” she says a little sharp. “Of course not. Especially in this heat. Now if you are ready, please give me your arm. It is much easier by apparition.” 

I nod, knowing it is futile to resist this dame. It is futile to resist anything she does, anything she says. Once I offer my arm and she takes it, I feel the internal pull from my midsection like I did the night prior, only this time I didn’t rid myself of all semblance of food and drink when we land in a busy street corner. It looks like a market of some type, as people in queer garb hustle too and fro. There are some people dressed in what looks like robes, some wearing pointed hats, some gabbing like this is all the norm, all while a flock of owls fly above. 

“Tell me those birds do more than just shit on people,” my eyes remain skyward as I watch one nearly kamikaze into a person walking into some store.

“They are the post, or the mail for the wizarding world. Yes, they are dreadfully messy, but they are reliable.” She looks around quizzically, like she is trying to get her bearings. I gave up on mine halfway through last night. “Ah there’s Gringotts. And there is the local wandmaker. Not as good as Ollivander, where Blaise and I got our wands, but still decent in the art according to Mister Ollivander. Remind me to drop his name when we go in, it is supposed to give us a better selection.” 

She nudges me to first go into a large marble building with tilting Corinthian columns. The sign above reads Gringotts Bank in what looks to be genuine gold lettering. 

When we enter, I look around at all the creatures poised above the people staring down at us over their long gruesomely knotted noses. She leans over whispering in my ear in a low, sensual voice, “Don’t stare. Goblins aren’t the nicest of beings. They would rather cheat you out of everything you have than physically hurt you, but neither is an option I would like to entertain at this moment.” She nudges her head to one of these goblins that looks to be of higher authority than the others. “This way. I have an appointment with him.”

The appointment went well, other than giving a sample of my blood to prove that I’m the Malfoy heir, and to access my vaults. She was right again, this witch, this dame. Is she ever wrong? She confirmed that I am stinking rich. I was given temporary access to two of the vaults monies, which was something called galleons, until a small amount could be transferred here from the London branch.

Our next stop was the wandmaker. She remembered to drop the other guys name, and with a disgusted look from the goose, he relented. He looked me up and down, asked a few questions about my personality and what qualities that I possess. Then she dropped my name and the he went paler than me on a winter’s Sunday.

“Malfoy? As in the lost heir of the Malfoy fortune?”

She rolled her eyes at him, “Yes, whom else would I be speaking of? Now, wouldn’t it do your business well if you could claim that you secured a wand for Mister Malfoy here?”

Name dropping seems to be part of her repertoire. From what I gather, she is not just known as some war heroine but is something of a princess in our world. And I am something of royalty. I need to remember to ask why she was betrothed to Blaise instead of myself. Maybe it was the war business. Maybe because I was a lost infant. But Blaise knew my mother, so they knew I was alive.

She was right, I have more questions than when we first met. And the more I stay here, the more questions I have.

After finding a decent wand - a piece of hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core - we go onto our next stop.

This is the stop I dread the most - seeing Tracey and Ian. I was asked to be Ian’s godfather over and over, I never definitely said no nor yes just, dodged the question every time. Now I am going to be walking in with his godmother at my side, and I almost want to tell Tracey yes to the idea, if only to have a long term connection to the dame next to me.

After another apparition, we appear in the backyard of the Zabini house - a small thing in Pasadena. Blaise got it when he got his recent promotion, he didn’t want to live in Los Angeles proper and he wanted a place that little Ian could run around. Tracey did a good job making it stylish, but practical. Nothing that screamed out of their budget but from what Granger told me, when Blaise ran off with Tracey he relinquished his own personal fortune. The house was done in natural browns, with lots of wood trim, something she called ‘Craftsman style’, supposedly an up and coming type of home design. She took such pride in her home, as did Blaise, and they would invite me over at least every couple of weeks to spend time with the only family I really took the time to know.

But they both knew me better than I knew myself. They knew of my history, of the life I was meant to live. They knew of magic. Yet they both lived their lives as a simple, normal family.

Tracey was nothing special to look at, light ashy brown hair with blonde streaks left by the sun, hazel green eyes, and after she had Ian she looked perpetually pregnant. She called it ‘baby weight’ but it was more like weight gained when she did nothing but look after an infant and eat her way through the day.

She is nothing like the babe on my arm as we both strode up to the Zabini house back door.

A squeal could be heard the moment we knocked, one that could be heard a few blocks away by canines if truth be told. Ian, bless the kid, took after his dad except in his high squeaky voice. He has Blaise’s darker complexion, warm dark chocolate brown eyes, and thick black hair. He didn’t get his mom’s slight curls, but somehow it always seemed to be going in multiple directions, never to be tamed to Tracey’s chagrin. The little boy had a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, even before his bright white little teeth began to come through. Now with almost all of his baby teeth, he looks like a perpetually smiling mini version of his dad.

“Me, me, me, me!” Could be heard from the little tyke. Then he saw me, “Unca! Unca with me! Momma, unca with me!”

Tracey came bounding around the corner at the sound of her son. Her hazel eyes spied the two of us through her screen door that separated the house from the humble back play yard.

“Oh my! Hermione, what brings you here? And with…” she paused, as if trying to put a puzzle together, “Draco?”

“Yes, Tracey. Would you mind if we came in?” She says softly, as the tot continues to make happy noises at seeing us.

“Of course, where are my manners?” She picks up Ian and unlatches the door, holding it for Granger and I. She looks to her little boy, “Ian, what do you say to Miss Hermione and Mister Draco?”

“I miss you.” He blew Granger some kisses. “Me come see me?”

Granger turned to me, “He calls me ‘Me’ and I have resigned myself to being ‘Me’ forever in this boy’s eyes.”

“Well,” I smirk, “I have been unca since he learned how to talk. Blaise always said it was Ian-ese for uncle.”

She nodded as she took the boy from his mother’s arms. “Tracey, we need to talk to you about Blaise. Just so you know, Draco knows now.”

“He… he” she turns ashen, probably why Granger took the kid beforehand. “He knows. How much?”

“We met with Slughorn last night,” she states simply as Tracey’s shoulders go slack. I rush to her side, in case she faints. She just waves me off as Granger continues, “He told us about the Serpents. I took him to the alley this morning. He finally has control of his inheritance.”

“Fine,” she waved us to the front living room, “I’ll make some tea. I can fill in some blanks you probably have.”

It was the fastest tea that I have ever seen, and it came in floating behind Tracey as Granger played on the floor with the tot. It was a sight to behold, a beautiful lady playing with a little boy, working on his words, his letters, his numbers.

Tracey sat down beside me, “She is good with him. Kinda swotty if you ask me, just like she was in school. Always had to be the best. Always had to have the answer. She had him talking early on and now she is trying to get him to read and recognize numbers. Blaise would laugh all the time, saying how she was going to make him into a mini version of herself and by the time he went to school, he would be the brightest wizard of the age and all because of her.”

“Tracey-” I began but was cut off with a wave of her hand, something I almost fear now.

“Don’t Draco. I love Blaise still to this day. I wasn’t always proud of him and what he did. But when he chose me over her, I knew I had to work to continue for him to love me. Then he met you.” She chuckled at the memory. “You idiots were still at the academy. He came home one night and busted through the door, I thought he’d break it, and bellowed out ‘I found Hermione’s husband’. He always loved her like a sister, he was protective of her like no one else could have been. When the war broke out and she was in the middle of it, it tore him up. There were goons that were sent specifically to off her. He would do everything he could to keep them off her trail. But it wasn’t love. He didn’t love her like that. Then he met you,” she shook her head. “Claimed you were as stubborn as she. If anyone could bring her down it would be you. From then on he was determined that once he was done with the Serpents, he would find a way for the two of you to be together.” One deep sigh, “It is why he wanted you as Ian’s godfather so bad. Not just to get to know his godmother, but because he was afraid of the Serpents and he trusted you with the one thing that meant the most to him. Even more than me. Even more than Ian. He trusted you with Hermione.”


	7. The Serpents

It was two pots of tea for Granger and Tracey, and a good part of a bottle of whiskey - not the fire shit from last night - for me before we got the whole story.

I learned that the house that Tracey and Blaise were in at school was called Slytherin, their emblem was a snake, and their colors were silver and green. That is what was the foundation for the Silver Serpents. Only former Slytherins could be members of the Silver Serpents; and if you marry outside the house, your spouse was not to know of the dealings within the Serpents. From the sounds of the hierarchy, it sounded strangely familiar to some of the mafia families that seem to run a good part of the non-wizarding shadows of Los Angeles. I can’t tell you which came first - the mafia or the Serpents - because they both can trace their lines for decades and both seem to intermingle and inter-marry for power and resources. And both seem to be on the sketchier side of the law, hanging in on the gray to dark sides a majority of the time. Both seem to be either in the pockets of politicians, or in politics proper. They both seem to have vast financial backing from questionable methods.

And now one of those questionable methods seems to be me.

This Snape person, who was the head of the Slytherin house when Blaise and Tracey were in school, now runs a tight ship when it comes to the organization. He doesn’t allow for failure claiming that this last war caused a great setback for the Slytherins in general and it is up to the Serpents to regain power, authority, and financial wealth they are due.

Tracey also told Granger and I of the main hangout of the Silver Serpents: the Black Mermaid in Playa del Rey. I had never heard of the place specifically, and she had never been. It is for members only. There is gambling and drinking, pro skirts taking men for everything they have, all the normal depravity that come with organized crime.

Yeah, that is what the Serpents are - the wizarding world’s organized crime. It just hit me that Blaise was involved with organized crime. He was a copper, a good one too. He was supposed to be on the right side of the law. And this whole time he was playing us - playing me. He played both sides of the coin. He worked me over, while trying to keep the goons off my trail and me off theirs. 

At this point I look into my glass, that glass that has been the one constant in my life since I learned the truth about myself and my late partner. I don’t know who to trust beyond this glass, beyond the liquid that numbs my brain.

But her - I can trust her. She is leading me to the truth, as painful as it is. Nothing she has said has been wrong so far. Granger. I can trust Granger. I don’t know if I could trust her when it comes to a street fight - the dame is not much more than a curvy little kitten - but yes, I trust her.

Tracey says that Blaise would have to check in at ‘the Mermaid’ at least once a week once we were partnered together, so that he knew where to avoid due to Serpents business and so they knew what his progress was with me. Seems to me that he was more interested in getting me in the folds of the Serpents than having me off’d.

He asked me to be Ian’s godfather, but more than that he wanted to see me with Granger.

Granger. It always comes back to her. She is chinning it up with Tracey about who knows, probably Ian. All I can do is watch and wonder why me? Yes she is a piece, a fine piece. If I am honest with myself, I could be swayed just by the curve of her hips. Right now I need to be professional though. For Blaise. Blaise who thought we belonged together. Blaise who called me ‘her husband’. Blaise who tried to manipulate us together through Ian, and still is from the grave as we try and figure out the reasoning for his untimely death.

“Blaise mentioned that Crabbe and Goyle were out the last time he visited the Mermaid,” Tracey states and Granger gasps at this.

“Who are Crabbe and Goyle?” I ask, finally bringing myself back into the conversation.

“They are known to be the Serpents droppers,” Granger says still in shock. “They are wanted by the British Ministry for many deaths. If they are ever captured, they would not be thrown into Azkaban, rather they would received the kiss. Which is actually worse than death,” Granger explains in a voice much smaller than her own. “They are vicious, ruthless, precise, and never miss their target. If Crabbe and Goyle were here, there is a good chance that the Serpents did in Blaise.”


	8. Blinded by a Green Light

Tracey states that we are to have dinner with her and Ian, no questions asked. She also states that it is nice to finally be able to use magic in front of me. Blaise put a rule that she was not to use magic on the days that I came over to their house for dinner and it would make cooking about three times as long. When I first began, Blaise went so far as taking her wand away so she wouldn’t be tempted. Didn’t matter that she lives in a non-magical, or Muggle as Granger calls it, community. She still did a few things with magic over the course of her regular days.

“Ian even has beginning to show signs of his own magic,” Tracey beams proudly. “He is getting his favorite stuffed animals in his crib after I turn off the lights. Merlin help me when he gets older. I hope I can convince the headmaster to have him go to Hogwarts and not go to a school here. I want to see him off at King’s Cross and take him shopping in Diagon Alley. I just wish Blaise could be there with me.” A sniffle escapes her, but it doesn’t sound right. “Now I guess I have no reason to stay in the States. I might just move back to England and take Ian. Right now, everything is still so fresh and the department still has Blaise’s death under investigation. Until it is closed, I don’t know if I should leave. It isn’t like we won’t be getting his death benefits in England as we are here.”

Granger puts a comforting hand over hers, “I will be there if you need. If you want to stay here, I am sure Draco can help. Whatever you choose, we both support you. I could talk to Blaise’s family at home if you would like. Let them know about Ian. It might be easier for you to come home if I did.”

“You’d… you’d do that?” Her tears are now flowing freely, something that isn’t comforting in the slightest for me. A crying dame is a pain.

“Of course I would. Madam Zabini would love to hear about Ian. Trust me. That little boy would be spoiled before you know it. She probably would insist you come home just so she could have a little Blaise to love and dote on.” 

The rest of dinner went on like this, these two chatting like sisters while I was left to my own ponderings.

“Granger, if these goons were sent out, why would they go after Blaise? Why wouldn’t they go after me directly?” I ask after we leave Tracey’s joint.

“Because Blaise let the Serpents down. The Serpents probably would have preferred you in their folds. Probably would try to convince you to return to England. Offing him would give them the opening to have you come to them, whether to find out what happened or to give you a reason to avenge him. They are known to give false information to manipulate people to get what they want. They would probably try to convince you that what you wanted was in England. That way they would have better control over you and your money. Word has it that your mum isn’t letting anyone in on anything, even though Snape is a personal friend of hers.” She paused in her tirade, looking down at her feet as we make our way down the dark sidewalk towards my office. “What Blaise didn’t do, be it to save you or get out of the Serpents, doesn’t matter anymore. He fell short. He upset the Serpents. And by doing so, he signed his own death certificate.”

“How are we going to get these Serpents? I mean we aren’t members; we can’t just waltz into the Black Mermaid and take them all down,” my snark returns with a vengeance as I ponder what we could do.

“We get Crabbe and Goyle. I need to submit your memories for the trial showing it was them that expelled the killing curse,” her voice is taught but strong, like she is working through a thousand problems and Crabbe and Goyle are just one of them.

“I… how do I submit memories? Is it like giving a deposition?” I must look dumber than a broomstick with that question, but it just doesn’t sound the same as to what I am used to in the non-magical world.

“Not really. It is a piece of magic that pulls the actual memory from your brain. Then other people can see it.”

I nod, not fully understanding but thinking it might be something like a movie, “Okay, but I didn’t get a good look at the guy who did it. I was blinded by a green light.”

“Well we can walk around in the memory. Think of it as a movie that takes place all around you. We actually live what you saw. We are there in a way. It isn’t the easiest to explain, but you did answer something without knowing it. That green light you saw, that was the killing curse,” she says matter of factly, not like it actually was used to snuff the life out of someone close to both of us.

“So um, how do you get this memory?” I worry that it involves a lobotomy or something similar. I like my brains where they are and my platinum hair on my head.

“I can do it when we get to your office. I have a vial that I can store it with me.” Her look goes distant again. “But I have an issue with Crabbe and Goyle though. If they were here to off you or, more likely, Blaise, they would not be hanging around. And they don’t do anything without being told by someone else. Usually someone with authority in the Serpents chain of command. Something isn’t sitting right and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, let’s sleep on it. Tomorrow we can wake with clear heads,” because I know mine is foggy at the moment at the idea of pulling memories from me and who could be behind it all.

“Of course, that is brilliant. What time shall I see you tomorrow?” She turns her golden brown eyes on me and I feel myself getting lost in them forever.

“Tomorrow? I was thinking tonight?” I put on one of my more sly maneuvers as my arm slides around her waist. “This isn’t the first night that we have been out together.”

“Oh I didn’t realize you considered this being out together. I considered it working the case,” her naivete shows through.

“I could show you the town, and then maybe my place,” although it isn’t much to speak of, I wouldn’t mind this night prolonged with her in my place.

“Oh I couldn’t,” she blushes. It is written over her face that she wants to as much as I. This flirting between us is leading somewhere, I just want that somewhere to be in my bed tonight. “I should get back to my hotel.” We open the door to the office building, her foot not even on the first step as she turns to me.

“Don’t-”

She cuts me off, “I’m sorry.” And with a pop that I can only think is the way we have been getting around town today, disappears in front of me.

My head sinks to the banister of the stairs and I sigh, “Damn dames. They’ll kill me.”


	9. The Black Mermaid part 1

I slept fitfully, my dreams filled with Granger. Granger in my bed. Granger and me in the future. She is the type of dame you settle down with. I am not the type to settle, but if I did, it would be with her. They were all vivid, in colors I haven’t dreamt in years.

I looked like hell by the time I got into the office. This was something coffee wouldn’t kick. I looked like I had been run over by a train at midnight and was left in pieces.

But that is how my life in general felt since the day she walked through my door.

I walk into my office, unlocking it from the outside, only to see the dame that has magically seduced me already seated in the chair that forever will be deemed hers. I might just keep the blasted thing when she leaves, because dames like this never stick around with putzes like me.

“You’re late,” she affirms.

“I had a bad night. Something I am not used to,” I quip back.

“I don’t like being made to wait like this. If it is your nature, I will ensure to change my own normal timeliness to accommodate your perpetual tardiness.” Ah, there’s the swotty side that I have learned is part of her.

“I do apologize, m’lady. I am not used to sleeping at night, you must understand. First, it was being a on the graveyard shift and then after, well Blaise, I just fell apart. My life hasn’t been what someone would call normal in a long time.” It just dawns on me that my life will never be normal again, and I don’t know how I feel about it.

“I understand, honestly I do. I threw a lot at you at once. I felt the same way when I found out I was a witch. Then Blaise’s family showed up and explained what is the norms for our world and offered for me to be his wife. It threw me and my whole family. Then, seven years of schooling in the magical world. It is a lot to take in and much of it I threw at you in the matter of days. But now I need to teach you to use your wand and protect yourself.”

When she stood, I saw that she wore wide legged slacks and what looked to be a man’s button down. Guessing that this is to make it easier for her to work with me, to teach me to use this wand.

My mind drifts back to the dark and seductive corners that holds what I really want to teach her about my existing wand work.

She worked with me all damn day. All day. I have not worked so hard since the academy. There was theory and so much practical. This dame is brilliant and a hot teacher. If there were more teachers like her in school, I may have paid closer attention.

By the time dinner came around we decided it was time to take our game up a notch and to the Serpents. She left for a couple of hours around six, and met me back at the office at half past eight.

The night was still early and there was no way to guess what laid ahead.

I was not expecting a blonde bombshell to walk through my door. Long blonde hair done in flowing curls. Blue eyes that twinkled. The face staring back at me was hers, though the hair and eyes were a near perfect representation of my own.

It would be what a kid of mine would look like if she was the mother.

_ Damn you, Blaise to hell and back _ . Now I am thinking about a life with this dame, a real life, a family… everything you had.

She struts in, not a care in the world. Not a care that we are going head first into the snake’s pit. “How did you do that?” I question waving a hand around her hair and face.

“Well I couldn’t do it magically, I can only assume that they have wards against appearance changing spells and the like. So I did it the muggle way - the hair is a wig, I have a friend that is in questionable employment here in the States that got me these contact lens things that are pieces of plastic that you put in your eyes to change the color.”

Damn it, this will make my day job - if I could ever go back to the force - even harder.

I take in her attire: she is wearing an ice blue gown that looks like it could be made of ice. It is risque, you can see much of what lays underneath, except for a specific areas that only can make men's brains wander to what it is hiding beneath. It is a halter top that seems to slide low between her cleavage. It is floor length, but really how much does that matter when you have a visual of those gams of hers.

Me, I am dressed like a typical professional dick: dark suit, comfortable shoes, and my classic fedora. Nothing like the babe in front of me. She is the one going in, she told me not to worry but with her dressed to the nines like she is, I can’t help myself.

All day she reminded me she fought in a war as a teenager and she can defend herself. She told me that what she taught me is what had her survive those years, one where she on the lam. She will be fine, it is me that she worries about.

We took a hack to Playa del Rey and found a place around the corner to be dropped off. It was something less suspicious, except for the hack driver who was asked to wait with me while the dish went into what looked like a run down warehouse. 

The hack driver and I wagged the chin for what seemed to be hours about nothing much. The whole time my eyes never left the door to the club. The muggle hack driver saw a barely standing warehouse, I saw a brightly lit up club with blue green stained glass windows depicting mermaids swimming - actually moving from window to window. Magic is just so - magical.

By the time the dame came back to the hack, I was relieved. She asked me a random question - what is Blaise’s middle name. Well that is something that very few people knew, he hated the name, something about it being a great uncle who was a real ass. But once I gave her the answer she took a deep breath, like she could relax for once.

“I can’t say anything here, let’s get somewhere safe. Your office?” Her look was one of near fear, a look that didn’t do the dish anything good. I just nod. Before long we are making the track back towards the Valley and she has her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her as she shakes in silent tears.

We get in the office and she puts up wards to keep prying ears out and lock everything both the muggle way and magical.

“I found Crabbe and Goyle,” she starts right off the bat. “It took a little persuasion but I got them to open up to me.”

“What did you learn?” I lean back casually on my desk as she seats herself on that damned chair. 

“I don’t know if you would believe it if I told you.”

“Darling, I have heard it all over the years, nothing will surprise me nowadays.” It comes part and parcel with being a copper for as long as I have. You see the worst of society, you rarely see the good. Until she walked in; she typifies all things good in the world. We are light and dark, and standing here it is more pronounced than ever.

Her glassy brown eyes plead with me to believe her, “It wasn’t the Serpents that put the hit on Blaise. It was Tracey.”

My world just fell into a black abyss.


	10. The Black Mermaid part 2

She gave me a ‘moment’ while she popped - literally - to her joint here and get something that could help. When she returned, she pulled out a large stone basin from a nondescript box she carried in. Then she held up her wand to her head, and for a moment I thought she was going to off herself. What happened next confused me greatly. A silver ribbon came from her temple to the point of her wand, and when it came out completely she dropped it into the basin.

“I barely believe it myself. I doubt that you would just from me telling you. So I think it is best if I show you.” She holds out her hand to take mine, and I fear that we are going to do that apparate thing again, but instead her head sinks into the basin and she is pulled in, dragging me along for the ride.

What we see next shocks me to the core.

It is like a movie, I see her walking into the club, there are shady faces all around and each of their sets of eyes linger on her longer than a gentleman’s would.  I watch as many men try to flirt with her, offering her drinks that smoke and others of unnatural colors. I watch as she wanders through the club, her hips swaying to attract as much attention as she can. She heads over to the stage area lined in a deep green and silver jacquard mermaid print. She stands, holding a glass of champagne that came off a tray a waiter offered, just watching the canary croon out a sad melody, something of a lost love that never was meant to be.

I understand the pain in her voice, I can feel it deep within me as I watch the dish get tapped by a man that could be a bouncer in any club on the Sunset Strip.

“Ne’er seen you round ere before,” his English is embarrassing, especially paired with his British accent. “I’m Goyle. And ya are?”

“Rachel. Rachel McIverson. I’m from Indiana. Graduated Ilvermorny a couple of years ago. Just moved here.” She talks like a native, not in her swotty British accent, but as a shy midwesterner.

“Why dontcha join my friend and me. It ain’t safe for a looker like ya.” She nods and follows Goyle to a table just to the left of the stage, tucked in the corner, on a slightly raised platform. Here the two goons can watch everything that is going on in the whole club. “Rachel, this is Crabbe. Crabbe, Rachel from Ilvermorny.”

He just grunts in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the floor, and a dumb look on his face like he’s been hit once or twice too many times.

“So what brings ya ere?” Goyle starts to what I only can guess is flirt with her.

“I was in trouble once and a nice officer helped me. Detective Zabini. He told me of this place, that it would be safe for me. I just wanted to see him and thank him for his help and direction,” she says coyly from under her long dark lashes.

They both give something of a cross between a grunt and a chuckle.

“Ya gonna have to see a seer to thank im. We off’d im a few months back,” Crabbe grunts out.

She fakes surprise and slight fear in this recognition. “But, but, he was so nice.” Her eyes water with fake tears.

“Not according to is wife,” Goyle takes up the story. “She paid a pretty galleon to have him off’d. She wan’ed to go ‘ome. He didn’t wanna. So she off’d him. Paid more to have im done in during duty. Made im into a hero or sompin. Now she gets muggle money for er and the kid.”

I felt myself pulled out of the memory and wanted to hurl. Tracey? Tracey paid to have him off’d. I swear I’m gonna kill the bitch.

“Don’t fret,” the silver ribbon is pulled out of the basin and put in a vial and stopped up, “I will take this to my friend Harry. He’ll have them all arrested for Blaise’s death. I just need a floo connection to get in touch with him and your memory also.”

It took two days of constant surveillance of the Black Mermaid, Crabbe, and Goyle before Harry Potter came with a small army of aurors to arrest the two goons and bring in Tracey.

While waiting, Granger and I spent a great deal of time together. We talked about everything from literature to catching crooks. She taught me a number of new spells and gave me all her books from when she went to school. She taught me how to utilize the magical communication system and how to apparate myself. 

She introduced me around the MACUSA office of Los Angeles, and got me all the proper licensing and whatnot to be a real wizard. She even set me up with a local tutor in case I got stumped on my magical lessons.

In return I gave her a real tour of Los Angeles, the good and the bad. We took a train ride down the coast to San Juan Capistrano for a day. It was what one would call romantic, especially when I finally got the balls to kiss her under the Mission’s belltower.

Blaise was right. I could easily be her husband. I could easily see a life with her. If it weren’t for the facts that we live on opposite sides of the planet and our lives are ingrained in our respective homes.

On the train back to Grand Central Station, we talked about how we were going to get Tracey and what the two of us should do with Ian since Blaise wanted us both as godparents.

“Did you know Blaise put you down as a magical godfather to Ian? You have as much right to him as I do,” she explained. I guess these magical people are worse than the department when it comes to paperwork.

“You take him. Take him back to England. Introduce him to his family back there. It will provide more stability than I can ever give him.” I am not the kind of man to be a dad, and definitely not a single dad. My work comes first and with the danger and odd hours, it always will. What kind of life is that for a kid?

She nods. I think she realizes this is the beginning of our goodbyes.


	11. Returning to Pasadena... and Life

We finally joined up with Potter after he arrested those blumbering goons. I asked him, nearly begged him, to be there when he arrested Tracey. Granger convinced her friend to let her go also so that she could take care of Ian, shelter him from the ugliness that will lay just beyond the horizon.

We apparated to the backyard of the Pasadena house, nothing looked different from the last time we were there. Ian was running around the backyard, kicking a ball, and the moment he saw us he plowed into Granger with the biggest hug and smile the little tike could muster.

She played with him for a while while Potter got what he needed from Tracey. After all was said, Granger and I had our moment with her. We both needed answers, and only she could give them to us.

“But why Tracey? Why would you do this to Blaise?” She asked the question that had been on my mind all day and night, ever since we found out the truth.

“I missed it. I missed England. I missed being magical all the time. I miss my friends, my family. I miss the money, the power, the prestige of being a Zabini. Ian is the Zabini heir, he is due it all and here he grows up in this hovel in bloody Pasadena!” Her British accent comes out the angrier she gets. “He deserves better, he is a Zabini.”

“But what about him?” I question the roundheel. “Where does this leave him?”

“He is going to be with the most powerful and influential women of our world.” Her tone is hateful and sarcastic at the same time. There seems to be an underlying disgust for Granger in her. “And his grandmother who carries the Zabini fortune. He will know what his name means, his history, his legacy. If he has to deal with the shit associated with the Serpents, he at least deserves to be a real Zabini.” She paused, “He never cared you know. About the perks of being a Zabini. Blaise loved Ian. He loved you,” she said looking directly at me. “He worshipped her because to him she was all things good in the world.” She sighed again, must be resigning herself to her fate. “Me, he just cared for me. He knew what I wanted and he walked away from it all. She,” she shakes her thumb at Granger mockingly, “she was light and happiness and all that bullocks. You were the perfect partner for Blaise, grounding him where he was flighty and hopeful. Ian was his angel, his redemption, his heir. What did that leave for me? I ended up being his whore that wore his ring and carried his last name. Giving him a home and a son for the pittance that the department paid him and that’s all. Why did I do it? Because deep down I resented him for giving me this life.”

Granger kept her bound magically and handed her wand over to me. Ian cried in the background; I think he understood his little world was changing again.

We agreed that Granger would take the boy home, take him to England. Probably raise him the way Tracey wanted to live, as a Zabini. Granger would introduce the little boy to his grandmother and like she knew, the boy would be spoiled beyond measure. Ian would get it all and Granger would never renig on her responsibility as his godmother, never taking anything for herself and giving all she had to him.

And that would leave me alone. No family. No partner. Nothing tying me here anymore. Except the city - Los Angeles is my home. It is my responsibility to maintain the safety of the citizens - protect and serve and all that nonsense.

We both, with a simple sad look, knew it was always going to come down to this. It was always going to be me left behind and her moving forward. It was always going to be romance and heartbreak and love and loss wrapped up and sealed with a bow.

It was a couple of days later before everything was settled. Tracey was being put in wizarding jail here in the States for the contract on her husband. Crabbe and Goyle were being deported to the British Ministry of Magic courtesy of Harry Potter, Granger’s best friend that my mother saved. After a brief yet painfully awkward farewell which included a job offer back in Britain if I cared for it, Potter was off with a number of his associates to take the hitmen to the wizarding prison for their numerous crimes.

At the intercontinental apparition office she holds the little boy’s hand as her heels click away from me, taunting me as she leaves, slowly but determinedly steady. Her hand rests on the door knob and without turning around she asks, “Are you sure? Sure you won’t come back with me? London is great this time of year.”

“No kitten, I can’t. I need to stay here. I need to work the muggle side of crime and make sure that the worlds don’t cross like this again. My life, my job is here.”

“I can get you a job at the Ministry doing the same thing. Harry’s my best friend and he’s in charge of the aurors-”

“No baby,” I am standing right behind her now. I feel the tremor in her hand as it continues to rest on the knob. “Go back to your life there. Watch over Ian. Do all the things Tracey wanted to do. Have him be the brightest wizard of the age.”

“I can do all that with you.”

“No babe, you can’t. You live your life on the light side, let me spread some light in the shadows here. Maybe one day our lives will cross again.” 

She turned around, I didn’t realize that my arms had caged her in, and I notice that her eyes are full of unshed tears. This is the family I could have, if I only gave into this dame. “Just be safe Draco Malfoy. Don’t let the Serpents sink their teeth into you.”

“Never.”

She leaned up and kissed my cheek once, something so innocent that almost made me give up my resolve right then and there, turned around and went through the door. No goodbye. Nothing more. She just walked out of my life without another word.


End file.
